I just left

I just left my old apartment for the last time (hopefully), and I gotta say, it wasn't a sad event like it was to leave the apartment on Underhill. Sure, I had a lot of good times and a lot of good memories at the old, shitty apartment on Viking Court, and I don't think I'll ever live on a street with a name as cool a "Viking Court" ever again (editors note: in a lot of movies edited for television, they say "viking" instead of "fucking", because the lip movements are almost identical). Anyway, I've chalked it up to the fact that Underhill was a college apartment. It was where I drank a ton of beer, fired a ton of bottle rockets into weird places, threw up a lot, entertained a lot, etc. Leaving that apartment was the end of an era, sort of. And that was sad. Leaving this apartment was... well... nothing. It didn't mean anything. No kind of symbolism or anything. It was just... leaving. Gone.

In other news, because of the new tenants we've seen at my old apartment complex, we think they're starting to give apartments out to government programs supporting underage mothers, juveniles, runaways, etc. It's hard to find renters, and I don't blame them, I guess. It's just that's not the type of place I thought I'd end up living in after the extensive credit checks and income statements I had to turn in to get into the apartment in the first place.